Her Game
by Kaysin
Summary: She always enjoyed playing games, even when she couldn't win. Playing with their hearts, minds and bodies was just another game to her.
1. The Game

Hey, this is my first fic, which is probably why it's so messed up. Just something that came to me about one of my favourite characters. See if you can name them all. Reviews and CC are begged for and recieved in exchange for cookies and pixie sticks.

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It was dangerous, this game she played. Deadly. She bluffed daily; played her cards with everything on the table; constantly risked everything. But her elegant mask was never pierced; they never saw through her lies. They were the game, and she loved to play with them.

He could give her everything, but not what she wanted. He was just a stepping stone, a tool, but he was an enjoyable tool. Satisfying. Easily wrapped around her finger, like the rest of them. Sapphire eyes watched her with lust and need, tracked her across the ballroom as she swayed with his friends. It was so easy. There was no risk involved; yet still she played, because she couldn't stop.

They called him a Cat, and she agreed. He moved like one, so sleek, his body taut and strong. He knew far more than was good for him, but his mysterious air was too compelling to leave alone. She loved to shatter his barriers, to make the little kitty cry out. He wanted to be the best, but with her he was just a slave, and he knew it. He could destroy her, but she could reduce him to begging. He knew so much he was like poison, and she kept coming back to dip her tongue in the deadly liquid.

She was sweet, the light to her dark. So willing to please, so obedient. But inside she was twisted, the insanity lying in wait. Unpredictable, she was lethal; impossible to guess; easy to control. A mention of her precious prince, a hint of their relationship, and she broke so easy. Yet she was so soft, so innocent. It felt so good to play with her; feeling purity so close in the night.

But he was even more mysterious than all of them. She couldn't help dancing with him; digging into his head; trying to found out why he didn't fall at her feet like the rest of them. His attachment to the prince was comical, so obvious, and she found herself wondering whether she could break it. One kiss was all it took, the merging of lips, to discover where his heart lay. She couldn't break him. But she could try.

They were all nothing compared to him. He was all that mattered, and he was everything that was fatal. What he would do to her if he found out…the thought was delicious. She bowed to him; knelt to him; cowered by his power. Yet she could make him weak. She could make the great mage need her, and that was truly power. And if he ever knew of the manipulation…that was danger. That was the game.

She was addicted to each of them; her polished lips stroking theirs; her emerald eyes locking with their own. She had them all, but it was all just a game. And she was an expert player.


	2. The Technique

This is the second chapter - I decided not to leave this a one shot. Thankyou those who reviewed me -hands over cookies and pixie sticks-

Disclaimer: Anything that it Tamora Pierce's doesn't belong to me. Anything that isn't does. No money is being made (unfortunately).

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He looked terrible. Then again, he always did. Delia pondered that. How could the same features – shimmering violet eyes, smouldering red hair, a small, seemingly delicate frame – look so different on two people? Especially twins, who are meant to be so similar. She knew he wasn't really that bad, but compared to the rest he was a disgrace. 

She could still remember Alan, with the passion alight in his eyes, his face lighting up in enthusiasm for one thing or another. Even posing as a boy, there had been a sweetness, a feminine overtone that couldn't be ignored. Beautiful as a boy, plain as a woman. And dreadful when mirrored on his twin brother. Ironic, really.

"Are you sure?" She purred. Her green eyes caught his purple ones, and inwardly she winced. Green and purple clashed far too much. Her body curved towards him, the dress settling so her form was obvious through the thin material. She adored the light summer dresses. Her tongue ran over her polished lips, an unconscious action that took so much effort. "Do you have the power? Are you…strong enough?"

She wondered if it would work. The seduction, that is. She knew the spell would. So much time listening to his droning voice, faking attentiveness, had assured her of that. But he was…different. The violet eyes that never paused on a flash of woman's flesh would trace a man's path avidly. But surely he could be bent both ways. All the others she'd known – and in court, there were far more than would be expected – never refused her. Perhaps he would hold out on her. There were always exceptions, or there were supposed to be.

"Of course!" His voice was harsh, irritated. His manly pride injured; his ego shattering from the cruel blow. He was a master, a king of the Gift, and filled with that arrogance he was a simple tool. Softly hinting at him, glancing mockingly towards him when she pretended she didn't know he watched. Describing all those powerful sorcerers before him, including dear Roger. Belittling his own considerable Gift.

"Perhaps we should not do this." Her eyes widened in maidenly fright and doubt, staring at him worriedly. It didn't fool him. But her hint at her lack of confidence in him did.

"We will do it! I can do it! You wait, you'll see. I am more powerful than anyone alive, and I will prove it." Violet eyes shone with his own passion, one Delia found oddly repelling. She began to picture others in her head, taking her mind of this…_creature_ in front of her: Roger, Alex, Jon, Cythera, Raoul, Gary, Joseiane…

"When?" Her voice hissed it out; her fingers curling round a pathetically frail arm. In this world of strong, muscular knights, he really was insignificant. "When, if it is possible?"

Eyes narrowing at her constant insults, he answered rashly. "Tonight. I swear it to you, Delia of Eldorne. Tonight I will show you how powerful I am. Tonight I will raise the dead."

She smiled slowly, on the outside exaltedly. Inside it was pure triumph and mockery. _Tonight, then, _she thought to Roger, waiting, caught in his own spell. She let go off his arm, running her fingers gently down it as she did so. Her caress spider soft, to catch the nerves on fire. She turned and walked slowly away, smiling smugly as she felt Thom's eyes burning into her.

_You're not that much different from the rest after all. You fall hopelessly just like everyone else. Not an exception, really. Maybe an exception doesn't exist. _

For some reason, that thought made her depressed.


End file.
